Just Like Me
by bloodonthepages
Summary: Germany has fallen. Curled up in the snow, pathetic. And what an oppertunity for Russia...


He was curled up on the ground, pathetic. The cold was too much for him. He simply couldn't stand it. And _how, how, how_ could he, when he had frozen his heart already? He was being eaten away from both ends. When you kill so many of those whom you love, his people- yes, there **are** his people, _mein Furher-_ what do you expect? He wanted to die. Yes, to disappear completely, let someone else hear the screams of burning children at night.

(Are you happy now, Boss? Are you proud of your strong, Aryan country that owns his life to you and hates you with every fiber of his being? You made the mask for me to wear, but I was the one who put it on.)

Blood was trickling from his mouth now. How many inexperienced boys were fighting on the Russian front for him, able to_ seig heil_ perfectly, yet unable to fire a gun? Did they understand what they were wrestling tooth and nail for? Did they do it to protect their people? Did they do it to kill those that they didn't understand?

He curled up on his side, the snow stinging his face, the blood from the wound on his head blinding his good eye. Angrily, he clawed feebly at the red band that constricted his arm.

The sound of footsteps and crunching snow put him on alert.

(No.)

He swore he could hear the pipe being dragged behind him, staining the whiteness crimson.

(God, no. _Please…_)

But it was. Ivan, that communist pig. Ludwig forced a sneer with whatever strength he had left. His mask had only slipped for a second….

The face the Russian wore was no mask. He was completely mad and bloodthirsty, innocent and kind, cruel and naïve, all in one. He felt no need to hide.

The blank violet eyes

(Though none could possibly grow in his land)

That smile

(the only thing unreal)

The pipe

(Oh Gott, that pipe, that goddam spigot, East, my brother….)

And now, him.

"Well, look what I found in the snow," Ivan whispered, almost kindly. He liked to play with his quarry.

"Ivan," spat the German "why bother? Just…" he lay his head down in the snow "I don't care anymore.."

"And why should you? You've _lost_," The blonde looked up in surprise. "You've fallen, Ludwig," he leered.

Ludwig gazed into the mad eyes. "…You've found the camps." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. It is never any different, monsters fighting from either side, da?"

"No one will think you a monster once they realize…" he shuddered. "I didn't…I didn't _want this!_ You've been here forever Ivan, tell me, why does this happen?" He felt light-headed, even from sitting up.

And Russia smiled "It happens because we let it happen. Look at you, making yourself sick just to please you boss. You just can't say no, can you?"

Ludwig lowered his head.

The old man knelt beside the boy. A gloved hand was placed heavily on his shoulder. "I have no time to pity you, too busy with self-loathing every night." He said the words slowly, they rolled off his tongue like molasses "No one will forgive you for a long time. Alfred wants to kill your brother for starting it, lucky for you I was there."

"You'll give me-"

"No, he is mine now."

Tears began to form.

(Don't you dare!)

His hair was messy and un-gelled, he uniform stained in blood. He couldn't move. What _what, what _had become of him?

"But Ludwig…" the German looked up, as the Russian turned to leave. "Do what you can to be forgiven. No matter what. Don't become _like me._"

Russia could feel blue eyes stare at him, mutely in shock. No one ever expects Russia to be kind, thought said country. It had been too long for him. And how does he prove himself? By listening to his boss, and dissolving Germany once and for all? He fingered the knife inside his coat pocket. Should he? The boy had been _just like him…_

"Either I will fall, or I will take you as well, either way you will one day see your brother again. Just be patient…"

Yes, give him hope. He wasn't sure if he was lying or not. He didn't know _anything_ anymore, who were his allies, who were his enemies. Unless they were all his enemies? Unless, if the bruises proved anything, his Boss was his enemy? Just like a young Russia. And what had kept _him _from dying back them?

A scarf was thrown at the German's feet.

"And don't freeze to death."

And Ludwig was alone again, fingering the scarf around his neck, counting the footsteps of bloodstained snow.

Eventually he made his way to a base, and all that remained that the spot was a tattered red armband.

And he –both of them- would wait.


End file.
